Page 36 of Too Little Too Soon
“Three days later, she called our manager. She was in fucking Buffalo. To this day, I have no idea how she got there or why she went.”
He stared at the wall like there was something fascinating about the simple, flat paint. “That was the day I quit the band. I couldn’t do it anymore. I wanted to be a serious musician, I wanted to make it big, and we were spiraling into a black hole at the speed of light.”
After a few deep breaths, he said, “I always get edgy when I’m anywhere near Cleveland. Like I’m afraid the same damn thing is going to happen again.”
She stepped up behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “You know that isn’t going to happen. Not with this band. The show’s over, and our guitarist is right down the hall in the meet and greet room.”
He chuffed. His hand landed on top of hers. He gave it a squeeze. “You’re right. Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “Okay, I think I’m ready now. Thanks again. For being a friend. Seriously. It means a lot.”
For being a friend. Exactly where she didn’t want to be.
That wasn’t true. She loved being his friend. She just wished there were a few additional benefits to the program.
“Let’s go. I’m sure there are at least a handful of fans who want the drummer’s autograph.”
He chuckled and swung his arm around her neck, guiding her out of the dressing room. He pressed a quick kiss to her temple before heading down the hall.
When they walked in, Oz waved at them to hurry over to the section roped off for the band. There was a guy holding a professional-looking video camera and another who Ava presumed was a DJ from the local radio station, along with two clearly starstruck young people, hanging with the rest of the band. All the other fans were hovering around, watching.
The roped off part of the room was designed to look like a cozy living room. Ava had even coaxed the venue into finding a couple of potted palms to position at either end of the sectional leather sofa. And they’d covered the high-top tables scattered throughout the rest of the room with linens to hide any imperfections. In the middle of each table was a pile of postcards with QR codes to the band’s website, where one could download music or buy merch that wasn’t currently available at the venue.
Ava had designed a few different potential new band logos; she and Maria were watching to see which one attracted the most attention from fans. They planned to officially introduce the new logo with the release of the band’s next album. There would be some sort of contest around all these postcards, which would eventually make them collectors’ items.
The two fans from the radio station were given hoodies, which they obligingly donned, and then the DJ held a microphone and talked at the cameraman, riling up the crowd and hyping the band, interviewing the two winners before letting whoever was watching via the live feed know that they were all going to take a picture with the band now.
One of the kids asked if the bandmembers would autograph the paper tickets they’d won, and someone produced a Sharpie. They all took turns signing, and the winners were escorted away to make room for the next wave.
Ava stood off to the side watching the interactions. The entire process was smooth, controlled. A security guard let no more than six people into the roped off area at a time. The various members of the band chatted them up, took selfies, signed autographs. Sometimes they talked shop if one of the fans played an instrument or was in a garage band and dreamed of being on the other side of this exchange. The security guard clearly had some sort of stopwatch, because, if Ava guessed correctly, every group got about seven minutes with the band before they were escorted out of the roped off area.
There was a joke in there, somewhere. She’d need to point that out to Travis later. He’d either roll his eyes and smirk at her cheesiness, or he’d laugh at her genius.
Travis nursed a single drink, obligingly interacting and signing autographs and smiling. Ava could tell he was still feeling edgy, but he was hiding it well enough from everyone else.
Panic Station made their grand entrance, and most of the fans in the room rushed over to fawn over them. It was okay; they were the bigger band. They’d been around a lot longer and everything they released became an instant hit.
Demigoddess Revival would get there. Soon. Besides, most of these fans had already gotten to shake hands with Demigoddess Revival, so it wasn’treallylike they were choosing one over the other.
One cluster of what looked like teenagers had remained in line. The security guard unlatched the rope and let them into the band’s private area.
The small group of fans all wore hoodies and jeans, and at first glance, Ava thought they were all guys. But then she noticed the shortest one of the bunch; that one had their hood up over their head so Ava couldn’t see a face, but the person’s curves implied they were female. Maybe one of the other guys’ little sister who had become a fan by default.
The hooded girl stepped up to Travis. and Ava could feel the change in the atmosphere from way over on the other side of the seating area.
His eyes went huge, his jaw rigid, his entire body frozen like he was a statue.
What in the world?
The girl reached for him, and Travis shied away, stumbling backward until his calves bumped into the couch and he fell, landing with anoomphon the leather cushion.
The girl continued to lean toward him, and Travis’s gaze whipped up and locked with Ava’s. She hurried toward him without consciously deciding to do so.
“Hey,” she said, elbowing her way through the cluster of bodies and grasping Travis’s arm, pulling him toward her. “Let’s go. Remember that thing…?”
“Yeah,” he said, his gaze on the door.
He wrapped his arm around her waist like he never intended to let her go, and she rushed him through the room to the exit.
They were a good hundred feet down the hall, heading toward the tour bus, before it occurred to Ava that the girl had likely been Travis’s stalker. She tugged her phone out of her pocket and shot Maria a text, then focused on getting him the hell out of there.
